


For the Devil to Dance Again

by karrenia_rune



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Gen, Minor Original Character(s), Small Fandom Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-29 11:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6373144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: What should have been a routine search and retrieve for a notorious criminal, outlaw and rogue Joseph Grueber known as Big Joe, takes an unexpected and dangerous turn for the worse when they find him a reluctant and 'honored guest'  of an insular clan.  Big Joe informs them is practicing a unique and very dangerous form of vampirism. But is that the truth or is something else at work here?</p>
            </blockquote>





	For the Devil to Dance Again

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art for Karrenia's For the Devil to Dance Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476575) by [taibhrigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh). 



Disclaimer: Killjoys belongs to the SyFy channel its respective producers and creators as do the characters which appear here or are mentioned. Note: with the exception of the ‘space vampire cult’ which are mine. Written for Round 5 of the multi-ifandom Live Journal community: Small Fandoms Big Bang. The title comes from part of the lyrics from “Shake it Out” by Florence and the Machine.

“For the devil to dance again" by Karrenia

 

The table's surface was liberally scarred and very rough to to the touch. It was also quite liberally splattered with the dregs of the beers that her two companions had been imbibing steadily for the past several hours. 

However she barely noticed the mess engrossed as she was by the rowdy contest that they had been playing; both men seemingly on the brink of crushing defeat at one point or another. 

She hid a smirk behind the pretense of wiping her mouth with her napkin and wondered if she should make a small wager on the outcome. At last, Dutch decided that she would make a private wager even if it was just with herself. After all, what the boys did not know wouldn’t hurt them.  
It was Very seldom they that got a day off and as the proverbial saying went, boys will be boys. But a part of her, the part that harbored a rebellious, mischievous wished that she'd been invited to participate in their little contest. 

She was certain that she could have drunk both of them under the table, even if in doing so it very well could have ended up with her dancing on top of the scarred and splattered table; not very lady-like at all. In the back of her mind, she thought, 'Ah, well, I guess there's always next time.'

John won and his older brother leaned over the table to bestow a hand-shake that to Dutch's eye was given with a bit more force than was strictly warranted.  
It was then that an idle thought crossed her mind: under the right circumstances she might wager more than a few galactic credits on an arm-wrestling contest between the boys.  
John was younger and shorter than his brother; but scrappy and tenancious in a fight. D’Avin did have the advantage in size and perhaps experience; but it would probably be a toss-up.

She shrugged and then considered whether or not she was thirsty enough to order another strawberry daiquri as she toyed with the purple swizzle stick that she held pinched between two fingers of her right hand.

If the boys wanted to turn just about everything they did into an on-going contest of one-man up that was fine with her. That was their business, and it was hardly her place to interfere; as long as it did not get in the way of doing their job. If and when it became a problem she would deal with it accordingly.

Their superiors might differ in that regard, but, oh well. She shrugged and drained off the last of the strawberry daqiquri in her glass; savoring as the sweet but not overpoweringly so and tangy flavors left a lingering sensation on her tongue.  
In other circumstances she might even have participated in the brothers’ little drinking game of one-man up; for various reasons of her own.  
For one thing, it was so rarely that her team got some down time. For another, despite her delicate fine-boned frame she could probably drink both of them under the table if she chose to. And for another, she almost would relish the look on their faces when it happened.

Just then their communicator beeped and Dutch stood up and went off to a relatively quieter corner of the noisy tavern to answer it. When she came back to the table she announced, “Party’s over, boys, we’ve got work to do."

D’Avin guffawed and quipped,”I should have known,” elbowing his brother in the ribs, “Guess there’s no rest for the wicked. Come on, bro, let’s get moving.” D’Avin got up a bit unsteadily but managed to get upright without assistance. 

As far as John was concerned, he was not entirely certain that his older brother was as drunk as he seemed. He also managed to stand up and felt a pleasant drunkeness that figured would be cured by the time they got back to the “Lucy” and he could order a metabolic tablet from the ship’s medical supply. It wouldn’t do to go into a potential hazardous assignment with a fuzzy head and slowed reflexes. 

He had not logged as many hours as a member of RAC as Dutch had; Hell, nowhere near that, however John Jaqobis prided himself on his efficiency and professionalism. 

So, he’d be damned if he allowed a little thing like a drinking contest with his brother to interfere with a warrant assignment. In the back of his mind he thought, ‘That’ll be the day.'

They had found a groove that worked for them. It was still a little awkward adding a third member to the team but John figured the more the merrier and Dutch was very good. In fact as difficult as it might be for him to admit, Dutch might just be even better than himself in a fight.

That had been proven over and over again in the past several months whenever the team had found themselves in a tight corner and and with their backs against the wall.  
In fact, during the time when they’d had to evacuate the inhabitants of the world where the females had been kept in a priory for the sole purpose of ah, well, let’s just say, continuing the bloodline; had been the most recent example of when John had seen for himself how deadly and efficient Dutch could be with those serrated daggers of hers, and the high-tech gadgets inside were just gravy.

She was good, very good. He tossed some credits onto the bar, which landed in the general direction of the bartender and then he followed the rest of his team out of the tavern.  
***  
It might have been the fuzziness brought on by the amount of alcohol that he had imbibed or the fact that he was beginning to entertain thoughts about calling in ‘sick’. ‘Are we even allowed to do that in this line of work,” thought D’avin, however he was not paying as much attention as he usually did in other circumstances. 

Dutch and Johnny were doing much better than he was; so he struggled to maintain focus. 

The establishment was shabby and set back among a cluster of like buildings in a relatively quieter section of town. 

Dutch led the way, Johnny in the middle, and with D’Avin bringing up the rear. The mingled aromas of cooking meat, spices, sweat and oil wafted to his nose even as Dutch, pulled back the beaded curtain that kept the the front living areas apart from where the warrant broker they had come to see, conducted business.

“Greetings, Dutch,” Bellus Haardy said warmly, “A pleasure to see you as always,” Bellus nodded to the Jaqbois brothers. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, and I am sorry for bringing your day-off to such an abrupt end. However, time is of the essence.”

“And the same to you, Ma’am,” replied Dutch. “No worries on the other.”

“No worries, Ma’am,” Johnny replied, even though he had not been directly addressed; stealing a significant glance at Dutch who lifted a high-arched dark eyebrow at a distinct upward slant.

“This is a delicate matter and one that must be handled with the utmost discretion” the warrant officer said evenly, reaching out with a heavily braceleted hand and spinning the complex device that sat on a table in front of her.  
D’Avin tried to concentrate on the device as the plates and shifting gears and colors whirled around and around, in and over one another but after a while of staring at and trying to figure where one element started and another left off had begun to give him a headache, so he gave it up.

“Who’s the target?” D’Avin asked eagerly, perhaps a bit too eagerly given the circumstances, but on the other hand Dutch could understand that kind of instinctual ‘itch’ for action.

“If you will give me a moment to get to that,” their warrant officer remarked briskly, “I shall get to that.” Bellus Haardy was not the type of warrant broker, or woman, for that matter, that liked to be rushed.  
A fact that Dutch had learned a long time ago and one that Johnny was a more recent student of, but nonetheless could respect.

“You will have to forgive him, Ma’am. You see he’s not quite house-broken but we hold out hope for him yet,” John remarked with a wide teeth-baring grin.

She sniffed and adjusted the lay of her red, orange and purple diagonally-stripped scarf where it looped about her coffee-colored skin. “Be that as it may, the mark is a smuggler, gambler, and illegal weapons trafficker by the name of Jospeh Grueber. In the nefarious circles that he travels in his most commonly known as Big Joe.”

D’Avin grinned, “I’ve heard of him. Hear tell he’s a tough nut to crack.” His grin was almost but not quite classified in the same category as his brother’s friendlier one. It was almost too eager, but there were worse faults in a killjoy; so Bellus let it pass.

“So we know what to include on his rap sheet; what else is there?” John asked.

“Is he always this impatient?” the older woman remarked with more than a little asperity tinging her husky yet not unpleasant voice.

To John’s way of thinking he wondered what her voice would sound like if she ever let her the hard-won disciplined control slip. In fact, looking at her now in the slanting sunlight coming in through the lead-panned windows John could almost see the lovely young woman she had once been with the high-boned cheek bones and drawn tightly against the bones of her face like a drum. He realized suddenly that he was staring and looked away.

“Yeah,” Johnny replied cheerfully ignoring the indignant glare which D’Avin shot in his direction. Bellus continued as if she had not noticed the weight of his regard.

“That was a rhetorical question, Jaqobis. Anyway, to the point: to the best of our knowledge Grueber was last seen holing up in one the drift worlds where he chartered a small charter vessel with enough supplies and fuel to last for at least a month or more,” Bellus explained.

“Did he log a flight-plan?” John asked. “I realize that would a be a long piece of luck if he had. The guy’s been eluding RAC agents for several years now. But from what you’re telling us, Ma’am, sounds as if he’s on the verge of finally slipping up.”

Their warrant officer nodded slowly and then added, “Our contacts on that world tell us that the vendor said Grueber appeared distraught and evasive but paid him in up front and without any of the usual haggling; he also said Grueber appeared to be in a great deal of haste.”  
“What sort of something?” Dutch asked curiously.  
“I don’t know, but that’s what you’re going to have to find out,” the older woman replied handing over a iso-linear chip to Dutch, “This has everything we know about Grueber and his last known corridinates. Haardy offered one last piece of advice, “Also, once you insert the chip into Lucy’s crystalline memory core have your ship triangulate any planets on Grueber’s trajectory.”

“He could have run out of fuel sooner than he anticipated and set down for repairs or refueling,” remarked D’Avin. “That would stand to reason.”

“I suppose,“ Johnny mused, adding, “but from what I’ve heard of the man he’s not the type to use reason,” adding the last bit under his breath. 

“I guess we’ll find out when we get there,” Dutch remarked cheerfully. “Come on, boys. Why the long faces? Let’s not borrow trouble, okay?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” both brothers said nearly simultaneously.

“A couple of practical jokers. This is I what I have to work with!” She heaved a fond if rather exaggerated sigh and after thanking their warrant officer for the briefing and the iso-linear chip they left for the street and towards the docking yard to return to their own spaceship.  
**  
It should have been a routine assignment: take Lucy on a long-distance trip out to the back-water planet and track down and bring in a wanted criminal in who’d been on the run for several months now.  
As it turned out D’Avin’s hunch that Big Joe might have chosen to find a planet that lay on the galactic fringes of the Quad’s system had been right on the money. 

However, if he had been a betting man, which he wasn’t; he wouldn’t have placed of his own money on the wager. Looking at the image of the planet on “Lucy’s main forward viewer D’Avin stole a significant glance at Dutch and wondered if she was feeling the same sense of apprehension as he felt. 

Nothing had yet happened to make him feel that way, but nevertheless it was there. He felt a bit like a horse that sensed without exactly being able to explain why it was that he could, the electric tingle of an approaching lightning storm or an earth tremor.  
Dutch had long ago been trained in knowing how to keep her emotions and thoughts to herself, but D’Avin was reasonably certain that even Dutch was well, not worried, but more apprehensive. It was not as if they were going into this mission blind. 

The information contained in the chip they’d been given had supplied them with the raw data and history of the planet. The planet was a class M, the climate tended to veer into colder climates and had vast deposits of mineral ore and had once been a mining colony. 

The construction and weapons technology that had been rumored to belong to an alien civilization that either died out or had decided that their declining years would be better spent in warmer climes, had been left behind.

For some unspecified reason that the chip failed to mention; in decades before the incarnation of RAC the planet had been settled but there was no mention of what had happened to the settlers, but it was implied that they had found themselves cut off from the more poplous and well-to-do citizens of the Quad and left to fend for themselves.”

“I got a bad feeling about this,” muttered D’Avin.

Johnny eyed his brother but remained silent. Even when they were kids it had often been very hard to know when it was time to trust one’s instincts or if D’Avin was merely pulling his chain in order to get rise out of him.  
In the years they’d been apart Johnny was not entirely certain if that had changed all that much. And secondly, he too, did not want to admit that there was something about being on this planet, that made him ‘itch’ but regardless of which was true there was nothing to do about it right now. 

“At least we know that Grueber is somewhere on the planet,” Dutch said."So let’s get to it.”

“Apparently during his most recent stint in the Cooler on of the Badlands’s jails, Grueber’s captors had outfitted him with an electronic chip that lit up that allowed his movements to be tracked,” Johnny added. The tracking device was hardly state of the art, but it worked and that was the important part.

The planet of Scotia IV was unremarkable in terms of landmasses and oceans: a bluish-white ball of ice and rock, with volcanic peaks rising up from its rather unvarying and unremarkable surface at is polar regions. On Lucy’s final approach vector Dutch ordered the ship to scan for the most likely looking landing spots, barring that she would take whatever they could get.  
****  
Dutch did not say anything about the landing which Johnny was grateful for, it was not one he would have put down in his mental list of good ones; but as the old proverbial saying went, any landing that you could walk from was a good landing. D’Avin might have had a few choice words on the subject but he chose to keep them to himself.

They'd covered a considerable amount of ground in a in a matter of hours despite the uneven terrain and ground-hugging mist that clung to the low branches of the trees and rocky outcroppings. The sun of that gave a brief and rather uninsipring day to this rock, rose over the tree-line but failed to do much more than light than and did nothing at all to burn off the mist.

It was colder then the team had been led to expect given the information in their pre-mission briefing and John wished that he had worn his thermal-insulated shirt underneath his uniform. He let out an exaggerated sigh in the hopes of inspiring sympathy from the two other members of his team, but no such luck. 

His brother, D'Avin seemed almost oblivious to the chill in the air, absorbed in his own thoughts. Dutch's breath formed a cloud around her face in a lacy grayish white veil. It might even have been attractive, if it had not been so effing cold.  
Johnny rubbed his gloved hands together and stomped his feet on the hard-packed ground in the hopes of restoring circulation to his numb extremities; but was only partially successful in doing so.

Whether she needed to or not Dutch unobtrusively ran a temperature scan on her monitoring equipment that was linked to their ship’s long-range scanners to see if such climate was typical for on Scotia IV and was only mildly reassured when the ship’s computer’s even voice reported back that it was.

The path that they followed looped over and around itself, narrow at some points, wider at others. From their vantage point at a wide loop in the trail they came across a lake bordered on two sides by trees of several different species; and shrubbery with wicked-looking thorns. 

Dutch felt compelled to step away from the others and take a closer look at the thorns, they were tubular around their circumference and tapered to a sharp narrow point at their business end.  
And they were as red as dried blood and gave off a stench that was very unpleasant and cloying. She did not care to think what would happen if the thorns were to pierce someone's flesh.

To Dutch's way of thinking, the landscape did not inspire much in the way of confidence and the way the trees and hedges had been allowed to run riot would provide perfect cover for inclined to wait in ambush.  
She fingered the hilt of her serrated daggers outline through the cloth of her thermal jacket and felt mildly reassured. 

It was only when the proxmity alert device that that had been keyed to signal when they were locking on their target went off, was when the unannounced attack began. It started with a whirring as of a hundred angry wasps swarming out of a disturbed nest. A dull roar at first, barely on the edge of human hearing range which gradually became louder and louder as they came closer to the source.

“Did you hear that?” Dutch asked.

“What?” was all D’Avin managed to get out.

Suddenly dozens of flying metal disks studded with spikes began to hurtle towards them. They were wicked-looking things about the size of a very large wasp cylindrical barrel-shaped bodies with sharp spikes protruding from every angle.

Exactly where one left off and another began was difficult to tell in the flurry of the attack. But once, when one came close enough to pierce through the thick layer of cold-weather gear, through the leather of their uniforms and through their flesh; as far as D’Avin was concerned that as more than close enough.

Both John and D’Avin pulled their laser pistols out of their holsters and began to fire at the airborne spikes, missing every now and then, but for the most part hitting them on target. The sound that they gave off was very much reminsicent of a swarm of angry wasps whose nest had been disturbed. 

Dutch did not care for the sound, or the swarm at all, and almost relished every time one fell to the ground in a small chunk of charred and crumpled metal. Even as her team defended themselves she idly wondered if Grueber was indeed here, if he had been attacked by these things and if he had, how he’d gotten past them. 

Or perhaps he’d put them here to prevent anyone from making good on his outstanding warrant.  
***  
When they had finally managed to escape, disable or destroy the flying metal desks and were now in the clear and Dutch had managed to get the worst of the mud and dirt from where she had fallen into open pit tented over with a brown tarp held in place with metal stakes. 

It was probably just as well that D’Avin had spotted the pit from a ways off and by putting an arm around her midsection had kept her from falling into it. It was deep and steep and muddy and even if she had survived the fall, she did could have scrapped herself bloody on those deadly-looking stakes.

She did not care to speculate why the pit was there, but apparently John had no such qualms. “Looks like this planet isn’t as uninhabtated as we all thought. Could it be that Big Joe has decided to give up his life of crime and go into archaeology?”  
“Don’t be absurd,” Dutch said severely.

“Or maybe that’s where they put everyone he kills six feet under.” John grinned. 

D’Avin pushed forward and aimed a mock-severe blow to John’s head. “Don’t be a jerk and don’t borrow trouble.”

No sooner had he uttered those words, than their forward progress was brought to an abrupt halt by a wall; a wall that had seen better days and was covered with trailers of ivy and moss, and a deep layer of rust that when she touched it her fingers came away with a fine coating of dust. Dust which Dutch bent down and rubbed it off on the grass. 

The wall itself stood about twice a man’s height from the ground and had openings scattered about it in which the vague outlines of weapons’ mounts could just be made out.  
Johnny and Dutch both ran their hand-held scanners over and around it, making ellipitcal circuits of the wall in order to accomplish this. It was an odd mottled gray black in color and even in the diffuse sunlight of Scotia IV’s short day it looked, not, diseased, but disconcerting.

“This is old, very old.” Dutch said. She had decided, based on nothing rational that she did not like the wall. It was ugly and unnerving, and it unless they found some way to avoid being cut to ribbons the they had to find some way around it in order to move forward and accomplish their mission.

“Ah, could you guys clue me in?” D’Avin griped.

“Do you think it’s still functional?” Johnny asked. He did not ask out of any scientific curiousity on the origin of the wall, whether or not it had been built by the inhabitants of Scotia IV or if it had been here centuries before they had arrived; he asked out of simple practicality, and because he wanted to get the others moving forward again.

“I should hope not,” Dutch replied.

Even as the words were out of here mouth, suddenly, the sound of weapons being fired up cut through the cold morning air and without warning laser beams shot through the air, along with some larger cousins of the cylindrical disks that they had earlier encountered.

“D’Avin bobbed and weaved, and then rolled and came back to his feet as laser beam sliced through the air where his head had been only seconds before, "because if I I had me druthers I would have hit the off switch as fast as I could and then gotten the hell out of Dodge!”

“I guess that answers the question of whether or not it’s functional” Johnny quipped.

“Say, bro, could you leave off being a smart-ass long enough to lend a hand here?” his brother complained.

“Sure, but you’re doing so well on your own,“Johnny replied as he aimed and fire covering fire at the area that seemed to be concentrating most of its fire on his brother. The wall contorted and shifted around the damaged area as if it were an animal being stuck with spears, and writhing in pain.

It was difficult to watch; but as they all fired on the wall, getting out of range of the most deadly beams John thought that he did not care to entertain the idea of an even remotely sentient weapons arsenal.

"And also Lucy’s memory core said that this arsenal might have been some kind of ancient alien technology that got abandoned a long time ago,” John said.

"Remind me to ask Akar when we get back. He's the expert in black-markets and illegal weapons manufacture and procurement," Dutch replied. "But now that you mention it, that particle beam cannon mount is reminciscent of the stuff we saw being used by Reginald Hiatt's men."

"Please, don't remind me," John griped, "We were completely cut off from Lucy, if memory serves.” He stopped speculating and fired off another round of energy blasts from his drawn side-arm. Ducking and rolling out of the way of the lasers that criss-crossed the space he had just been standing in.

"Be that as it may," Dutch remarked, "we got out of that action relatively unscatched so it's all good.”

“Johnny, boy,” D’Avin said, you had a good idea earlier, if there’s a generator supplying power to this thing it stands to reason there must be a way to turn it off.”  
“He’s right,” Dutch said.

"Speaking of which," D'Avin remarked, "Say, anyone care to speculate why anybody would want to run out to this godforsaken corner of the galaxy. I mean that badlands planet was bad enough, but this place looks that last time it saw better days was when ships of the line were still using impulse engines only."

"Please, don't remind me, Johnny,” D’Avin said quitely, “I think we’re out of range of the thing."

John scowled. "Well, damn, I thought you needed me to remind you of stuff, what with your faulty memory and stuff."

"Yeah, but this isn't the time or the place for it, okay?" D’Avin replied softly. Turning to face Dutch he said,"What do we do now?” We can’t blast the wall it’s too big by half, and even if we did did we run the risk of draining the batteries of our own weapons."  
John nodded, it was great to have his brother back and there were times when he couldn't help falling back into half-familiar patterns of bantering and back and forth sarcastic rejoinders. 

Meanwhile Dutch had circled around and had stumbled on what appeared to be a device of some kind, after cutting through the underbrush and lazing the ivy she thought she was some kind of icongraphy-based console.”Guys, I think I found the off switch!”  
“Great, shut this wanker down and we’ll being going,” D’Avin yelled.

“Give me a moment to figure out how this works,” Dutch replied. “Hmm, this looks like a lightning rood, this looks like a thunder cloud and. Here goes nothing," she muttered under her breath. She pressed and held the down the combination of icons that she believed to be the most likely to turn the arsenal off, and held her breath. Praying to all that was good and decent in the Quad that she had been correct. 

She turned and heaved a sigh of relief when she and her team made a cautious approach to the wall and were able to sidle around it without being attacked. “Okay, that worked,” John yelled. “What now? Or shouldn’t I ask.”

“We keep moving, bro,” D’Avin quipped, aiming a mock-shove in his brother’s direction.

However, D'Avin was right. They were on a mission and they'd best get on with the task at hand.  
**  
They came upon it quite suddenly, after getting away from the automated arsenal. It loomed on the horizon as if it would stand there enduring the harsh weather, cold, and snow, rain and the short day of Scotia IV, no matter what happened, and even centuries from now, it would still be there. From the outside it did not appear likely that anyone could still be living there. 

It was the only building that stood as tall as the pine, alder, hemlock, and oak trees. It was a fortress that took up about three acres of ground and looked as if it had been either built or constructed out of granite shipped piece by piece from some old-world stone.  
“Doesn’t it struck anyone else as odd that the outer perimter defenses were modern technology and the closer we get to this place the older the technology gets.”  
“Duly noted, John,” replied Dutch, who had also noted on the seeming incongruity but had kept her thoughts to herself. 

“Nice place,” Johnny griped. “It could be included in a catalouge of early avant-garde Gothic, if one went in for that sort of stuff.”

“Hey, bro, if this bounty hunter stuff doesn’t work out, maybe you should think about a career in architecture,“ D’Avin remarked.

“Ha ha! Very funny,” Johnny replied. “Let’s just get on with it. Okay?”  
**  
If the exterior of the castle was a bizzaare amalgam of modern and old-world technology the interior was all of one piece, in the sense that was all old-world, with the minor exception of the electric lighting in the dusty chandelier that hung from a high-raftered ceiling. They were met at the door by a man dressed in the outfit of an Old-Earth Victorian butler, who introduced himself as Edwin.

Edwin escorted them to another high-raftered and chilly sitting room where shouldered open a creaky wooden door and say, “Here you are,” and then without adding anything else he shuffled off down the hallway to another part of the castle.  
Johnny shivered, and not just from the cold. He had another bad feeling about this, similar to the one he’d experienced earlier on the way here.

Among the cluster of over-stuffed sofas and chairs, and end-tables with assorted knick-knacks and vases was a high-backed chair with a padded burgundy cushion. On the chair sat a tall elegantly-dressed man wearing a dark smoking jacket, beige pleated slacks, and a tie that matched his jacket. His hair was raven-black just touched at the front with streaks of white and clustered around his chair stood about a dozen other men; some tall, some short, all sporting some kind of grayish uniform. 

Dutch and the others took note of the bodyguards, if that they were, their positioing, and weapons that they might have had on their persons, as much as they could under the circumstances; and immediately turned their attention to the seated man; obviously the leader. Much of his face was covered in a mix of light and dark, which made him look as if he wearing a kind of half-mask.

“Greetings,” the seated man began in a rich and cultured voice. “Welcome to Scotia IV, my name is Ellison Harris. Please, come forward, I can see you there by the door, but I doubt you can see me.”

The one called Ellison Harris was pale and handsome in that kind of way that Dutch had only heard about in Old Earth Gothic novels that she vaguely recalled reading in the information packets contained in the Quad’s extensive archives or perhaps during her training sessions with her old mentor Khylen. 

That was an avenue of thought that she did not carry to travel down and mercilessly shoved it down into a back corner of her mind, instead she concentrated on Harris.

However, the sensation of urbane charm and confidence that exuded from the man could not be denied. “To my immediate left is my first officer, Thom Miller.

His First Luitenant Thom Miller stood at his left side fingering the hilt of a wicked-looking dagger all the while.

“Well, well, what brings such a lovely company to my neck of the woods?” Harris asked, smiling toothlily all the while.

“We’re with RAC, perhaps you’ve heard of it?” Dutch asked in as mild and as pleasant a tone as she could muster, but there was an underlying implication there as well.

Harris shook his head and heaved a sigh, “It has been such a long time since we’ve had company, and perhaps we are a bit rusty when it comes to showing proper solicitude when it comes to entertaining guests.”

“We’re not here for a social call, Mr. Harris. We’re here to collect a bounty on an oustanding warrant,” Dutch replied condfidently,”and like I said we don’t want any fuss or trouble. Makes it much easier for all concerned.”

“Who?” Harris asked, as if locating a criminal was the last thing on his mind, or as if the issue of his people harboring a fugitive from the law was not even important enough to keep from his mid-afternon nap.

“His name is Joseph Grueber,” Dutch replied.

“And if we do not, lovely lady?” Harris drawled. He was enjoying the way that things had shifted back into his control.

“Then we’ll have a problem, won’t we,” Dutch retorted. Even as she assessed the immediate surroundings, taking note of the various entrances and exits, layout, and and how quickly her “One Jospeh Grueber. Calls himself Big Joe. Hand him over to us and the’rell be no fuss and no team could reach them, and she thought’ He underestimates my mind, I know he’s messing with my head. I should be accustomed by now to folks thinking I’m less of a threat because of my gender. But what is it about this Harris guy that has my hackles tingling more so than usual?’

D’Avin was tapping his fingers against the nap of his leather-clad leg and shifting his weight from one booted foot to another. 

“But, the hour grows later than I had anticipated, and we so seldom receive visitors. I must insist that dine with us. Yes?” We can continue the discussion of the business that brings you here over a hot meal.”

Dutch eyed the older man suscpiciously but saw at this particular juncture that there would little bit in further arguing, and agreed politely. “Very well, we’ll stay for dinner.”

“Excellent,” Harris replied and smiled. “Thom here, escort our guests to their quarters and make certain that there are appointed in a manner befitting the status of our guests.”

“Yes Sir,” Thom replied.

“As that will give us time to prepare a meal and you time to rest and refresh from your long journey here. It’s a win-win for all concerned.”

“Agreed,” Dutch replied evenly and let herself and her team be led away to another area of the crumbling fortress, but not before she made another visual and mental check of where all the exits and entrances were.  
**  
An hour or so later when they had shed their bulky cold-weather outerwear and had cleaned up, mostly sweat, mud and grass-stains, the trio were escorted by Thom to the dining room; all three trying to appear casual and relaxed, but not entirely succeeding. If their hosts noticed they said nothing about it.

The dining room had been throughly cleaned and had the brass and crystal chandelier that swayed above their hands had been recently polished so that it gleamed in the light of the candles in their sconces; but somehow Johnny and Dutch could not entirely shake the feeling that there was an air of disuse and abandonment in the air.

Dinner was served on silver platters, a mixture of root vegetables and steak, their hosts took the meat almost rare, and the guests were served medium rare. “This is good, what is it?” D’avin asked.

“A kind of wild boar, it’s called a ‘rorshiem," Thom Miller replied. “We were fortunate that its an active season for the rorshiem, and this one happened to wander into one of pits, otherwise our hunters would have had to range farther afield from our normal hunting grounds.”

“Pits?” Johnny asked.

“Yes, we use them to trap large game,” Tohm replied.

“I see,” John replied then turned his attention to the wine that had been served with dinner. He hadn’t yet decided whether or not he believed anything that their hosts had told them thus far, and after stealing a significant glance with Dutch and D’avin; saw that the others had not as well.

“If I might ask you a few questions,” Dutch began.

“Ask away, we’ve got nothing to hide,” replied Harris smoothly.

“How long have you been out here. It seems so remote from the more settled areas of the Quad.”

“Oh, I should think at least a century. We were on a colony ship that was part of a larger convoy and when the convoy ran afoul of an ion storm ours was the vessel that got caught and knocked off course,” Harris replied.

“We were fortunate to make it here and were able to start over,” added Thom. “We’ve been here ever since.”

“A century?” D’Avin asked. “Seems to me that the colony ships were dispatched much later than that. And if that’s the case, how is it that you were able to make your supplies and raw materials last that long?”

“We’re very good at stretching resources,” one of the others gathered around the long banquet table added.

"It’s getting late, and you’ve all had a very long trying day,” Harris suggested,” Perhaps you should retire for the evening and we will resume our discussion in the morning.”

Dutch did not care for his casual dismissal, because she found it offensive and more importantly she wanted to ask more questions of their host; but the questions she most wanted to ask,no matter how subtly worded might just land them in more trouble than they were already in. She would have to bide her time. “Very well,” she replied instead. “But I’m holding you to your promise.”

“Madam, I am a man of my word,” Harris replied.

“We’ll see about that,” she replied.  
**  
Interlude  
They had settled in for the evening, although on this world, with the pale sun only slightly brighter than the evening it was sometimes difficult to tell the difference, the team was tired but not yet gone to bed. Each of them were entertaining differing thoughts on their hosts when a clanging, clicking, and scrapping noise sounded from just outside their third story window.

Then the window was shoved aside and a booted foot shattered the heavy glass as a heavy object made contact with it and large shadow interposed itself between the light of their room and the moon scudding through the sky outside. 

“What the hell?” D’Avin asked.

Then the large form rappelled down the wall and onto the floor of their room. Slowly disentangling itself from the improvised harness and rope the figure removed its hood. “Howdy, ya’all.”

“What the hell?” Johnny demanded angrily.

Gureber ignored the remark and addressed the only female in their party. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Look, you came looking for me, you found me. And I realize you ain’t go no reason to trust me.. Hell, if were in your shoes I sure wouldn’t but you best listen close to what I got to say, cause it just might save all of our lives.”

For a big man his bushy-bearded florid face normally open and and red with hard-living and hard drinking, Big Joe’s face was remarkably pale and he kept clenching and unclenching his fists.  
D’Avin sat on the settee in a loose-limbed studily casual pose but it was there was an undercurrent of threat beneath that attitude. 

“Tell me,” Dutch encouraged softly. 

“This ain’t no head-trip, honey,” Grueber remarked. “Yeah, and I have a pretty good idead of what y’all think of me. And I aint’ no saint that’s for sure. And I’ve done things that would get hanged shot or killed or some combination of all the above on most worlds in the Quad; but" he trailed off as if this next part was more significant than what had come prior to that, “But, I tell this is true, as bad as I was, perhaps am, this juju is much worse.”

“How much worse?” Dutch asked.

“As in our lives are in danger.”  
“Yeah, we can take care of ourselves,” D’Avin drawled.

“Not that kind of danger you wanker,” Big Joe snapped. “As in, I know this is going to sound crazy, but we’re dealing with a nest of space vampires who want to drink our hemoglobin, danger.”

“Space vampires,” Dutch repeated tonelessly. Normally she would have taken such an absurd assertion as nothing more than that. Such things simply did not exist, could not exist outside of the Old-Earth Gothic novels she had once read as a child, or in the holo-vids. She stole a glance at her other two companions and tried to sense something of what they were thinking; to see what they thought about all of this.

“Yeah right, and I’m the Queen of Sheba,” Johnny scoffed, and then abruptly stopped when he stole a glance at Dutch to see that she was actually taking Big Joe’s absurd assertion seriously.

D’avin apppeared relaxed, but to be honest, Dutch could not remember a time since he had joined the team, when she had truly seen him completely relaxed. 

Turning her attention back to Grueber, she saw that his big, broad wind-burned face was set in grim lines of determination, and something in the big man’s expression coupled with her apprehensions as they had made their approach to this place, and what they had seen and heard so far from their ‘hosts’ caught at her and made her a believer.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and said, “All right, for the sake of argument, let us say that we believe you. What then. What is our best plan of attack?”

“We’re all tired, but we can’t fall asleep just yet. They’re nocturnal, they’ll wait until midnight and then attack,” Grueber replied.

“If you’re telling the truth,why haven’t they killed you yet?” D’Avin asked.

“Because, the hell if I know!” Grueber threw up his hands. “Maybe I don’t have the right kind of blood type, maybe they were saving me up, or maybe, they figured that eventually someone might come after to collect on my outstanding warrant and when they did, Harris and the others could use me as bait.”

“Stands to reason,” D’Avin remarked.

“I wish you would stop saying that!” Johnny exclaimed.

“Why? Does it bother you?” D’Avin fired back.

“Both of you, shut up! That’s an order,” cut in Dutch.  
***  
D’Avin had argued that he should be the one to take the last watch of the night, even though he was as tired as the others, and after some desultory protests from the others; they had agreed. 

That was the temperature in the room dropped considerably and the flames in their electrical fireplace sizzled out. D’Avin rolled up his sleeves and cursed the old-world technology as he got up from the over-stuffed couch he’d been sitting in and went over to check on the monitor to get the fire started again.

He had just been in the middle of his fourth attempt when he could heart a subtle scrapping and swishing just a level below his hearing. D’Avin forgot his cold toes, forgot his sleepiness and discomfort and went into full alert mode, ‘“Hey, guys, wake up! We’ve got company!”

Dutch came awake immediately, rolling out from beneath the linens of the old-fashioned canopied bed and bent down in one smooth motion to put on the boots she had taken off to sleep. 

Johnny heard as well and woke up almost immediately as well. Grueber, sleeping in a chair off to one side of the large room, was slower to wake up, but finally groaned and growled “What?"

“Shh,” D’Avin warned. “If you’re correct about the danger, I think we’re about to find out right now.”

“I am, sonny boy,” Grueber exclaimed rubbing at the exposed flesh of his ruddy skin, underneath the layer of reddish-gold hair.

Dutch went to the door and then was thrown back several paces as the door was hit with an enormous force and the metal and the portal burst into a thousand splinters. 

D’Avin jumped back out of the way still clutching his side-arm.

“Not exactly trying to be subtle are they?” D’avin griped.

“Maybe they don’t have to now that they don’t have to rely on subterfuge,” Dutch said.

Harris and his men burst through in a back fanning out to cover more ground as they did so.

It was also at that moment that Dutch primed and readied the high-tech detachable systems in her daggers and then gave each of her teammates a subtle nod, to signal them to stand ready for whatever their attackers would do.

Harris and Thom led the pack, the remaining dozen breaking up into groups of three. Harris’s eyes were too bright, too unnerving to look at for very long.  
His smile; a toothy smile that showed all of his teeth, including very sharp and elongated incisiors, were bared. 

D’Avin sidled a bit closer and saw that underneath the nails of Harris’ men there was dried blood and dirt.

“We promised that we would discuss your business further, Dutch,” Harris remarked, adding “I am a man of my word.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing hospitality,” Dutch calmly replied.

Harris’ normally pale complexion was flushed with an unnatural feverish gleam.

“Don’t give an inch!” Grueber yelled. “Kill them all!”

“Grueber, stay out of this,” Dutch ordered.

“So he tipped you off,” Harris remarked idly,"I would have preferred to have the element of surprise, but this way works as well. This way we can take care of business all at once.”

“What kind of monsters are you,” exclaimed John. He could not understand how Dutch could be so cool, calm and collected, because inside his emotions were roiling around like a boulder rolling downhill. He tried to kept it under control, but was not completely succeeding. He realized that he had a white-knuckled grasp on his side-arm and took a deep breath in order to calm down.

“Monsters?” Thom echoed, laughing.

“Thom, please,” Harris reproved his liutenant. “We’re not monsters, We’re what time and extenuating circumstances have made of us. Unfortunately, as you can no doubt appreciate, Miss Dutch, that often when one finds oneself in desperate times, desperate measures are called for.

“That’s no answer, “retorted Dutch sternly.

“Grueber was right at least, in part.”

“How so?” Big Joe asked.  
“We do not wish to kill any of you. Although, the tall one does look especially savory, “Harris replied, shifting his weight from one booted foot to another, ignoring Big Joe’s interruption, addressing his words directly to Dutch and her team.  
“What do you want? Why attack us now?”

“We need you for your hemoglobin,” Harris replied.

“Consider it a blood donation,” Thom suggested. “People do it all the time the Quad’s blood banks, so why should this be any different?”

“Well, Thom may actually have the right idea for a change,” Harris added. “After all, it would stave off the unpleasantness of a fight.”

“If Big Joe hadn’t tipped us off, would you have crept in here like some kind of sneak-thieves and killed us all in our sleep?” D’Avin demanded.

“No, no, not at all,” Harris replied. “You mistake our intentions, Mr. D’Avin.”

Harris smiled, and it was not a pleasant smile, more like that of an expression of a predatory shark, but D’Avin, on the receiving end of that smile thought the man intended it to be sincere. If so, the effort was wasted on him. 

“Very well, It would have been easier the other way, and once you recovered and were escorted back to your ship, no one would have been the wiser,” Harris mused, stroking the stubble on his chin.  
“You mean, killing us in our sleep?” Dutch retorted.

“We don’t want to kill you, I thought you understood that,” Thom interrupted.

“Thom, that’s enough!” Harris repremanded his first liutenant.

“If you’ll trouble to recall, at dinner we told you that our colony ship was knocked off course by an ion storm. It’s been difficult for us to manage to enable our colony to grow and thrive with the limited resources we had at our disposal.”

“So, you could have found a way to get in touch with outside suppliers within the Quad without resorting to kidnapping people,” Grueber said.

“Yes, supplies, equipment, technology, but that isn’t all that we required. As time went on we realized that our people were suffering from a unique condition. A condition that had been hidden from us.”

“What kind of condition? “asked Johnny apprehensively.

“Hemophilla, or as Big Joe referred to it, vampirism. What’s the saying, what does not kill you, makes you stronger?"

“Jump bet!” Johnny growled.

“You don’t believe me?” Harris asked as if their reaction were the furthest thing from his mind. “I realize how it sounds. I realize you would take convincing.”

“Why us?” Dutch asked incredously,” and as she leaned forward one hand inches from withdrawing one of her daggers. “No more beating around the bush, no more evasions, just come out with it.”

Harris’ eyes widened and a muscle twitched in his fine-boned cheeks, but otherwise did not betray any signs of alarm, then replied calmly, “Because they would have to send someone from their own organization after Mr. Grueber, and following that logic, they would send the very best, and with the right mix of blood types.”

“You want us to donate some of our blood so you and your horrid crew can keep going?” D’Avin muttered. “Yeah right! Turning to Dutch and his brother he muttered, “Let’s get the hell outta here!"

“It took a very long time to reach this decision, and believe me it did come easily or at general consensus. Some among my ‘horrid crew’ as you so eloquently put it would much rather continue to exist in a limbo exsitence forced upon us by our ‘condition.”

“What do you mean?” John demanded.

“I mean young, man,” Harris replied,’that there benefits to being a ‘vampire, speed, strength, durability, enhanced senses; increased longevity. However, there is a downside as well.”

“Yeah, like putting a wooden stake through your rotting heart!” Grueber exclaimed. “Or watching you go up in flames like when exposed to daylight.” He had begun to focus less and less on the debate and more on considering making a break for it. If he timed it right he could probably avoid there of Harris’ guards and make it back to the far wall and his climbing gear.

“Yes, Yes,” Harris sighed. “And yes, those are the well-known and classical examples of the vunerablities to which vampires throughout history have been subject to. And Mr. Grueber is only reflecting his own paranoias by expressing them.”

“You’ve got something else in mind?” said Dutch quietly.

“Yes, We want to be done. We want to be, for lack of a better word, cured. And it is my belief, that your contrubution of hemoglobin will give the last link in the chain to effect that cure.”

“Speaking hypothetically, if we agree to do this, how do we know that you’re telling the truth?” ‘D’Avin asked.

“I can’t believe that you’re actually considering do this!” Grueber exclaimed, “God dang it!”

“You don’t,” Harris answered D’Avin’s question ignoring the big man’s outburst."I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”

“He’s way too confident,” D’Avin muttered.

“Indeed, but I do not see any other way out of this miss, do you?” Dutch replied.

“Effing no way!” Johnny exclaimed.

“Does he speak for all you?” Miller asked.

“No, he does not,” Dutch evenly replied.

“Then you’ll agree to a transfusion?”

“Yes, but don’t get too hasty, you’ll have to give me guarantees that once we done, we will be granted safe passage back to our ship. All of us,” she tacked on, with a significant nod in Joseph Greuber’s general direction.

“Of course, That’s what you came for, after all,” Harris smiled. Then without anything more he signaled to one of his men and pulled out a medical kit complete with syringes, rolls of gauze, needles and assorted items and opened it. “Who’s first?”

“I am,” Dutch said, rolling up her sleeve and baring her arm, steeling herself. She was no shrinking violet when it came to a little blood, even her own, but somehow this was different. If pressed she could not have said why it was different. She’d donated to the Quad’s blood banks before, it just was different now somehow.

The pressure of the her arm intensified and then was followed up by a tiny prick and then she watched as her blood flowed into the syringe and refrained from being showing how unnerved she was as it flowed from the syringe into Harri’s pale-skinned arm.  
“I just have one question,” interrupted D’Avin. “How will you have enough for everyone.

“We have a lab to syntheize the cure, once we have your donations,” Harris replied smoothly.

“Of course you do,” Johnny asked. “You okay, Dutch?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

D’avin went next and then Johnny, with misgivings written on every line on his face. Afterwards je steeped away, rubbing at the spot on his arm.

Harris held up the remaining vials of rust-red liquid between the middle fingers of his left hand, and “You have our gratitude, and you are free to go and take Big Joe with you. Edgar,” he pointed to another of his man. A short stocky blunt-faced young man, “will escort you beyond the edge of the exterior defenses and from then on, you can make your own way.”  
***  
There was very little conversation on the trek back to their landing site, Edgar was non-comittal but he followed his instructions to escort beyond the pit, and the deactivated weapons arsenal. And left them at the head of the forest track and then turned around and left with a brief wave of his hand,muttering a ‘good luck’ under his breath.

After they had left Edgar far behind them Dutch still remained uncommunicative, and judging by the way his booted feet hit the ground with every stride she could tell that Johnny was not particular happy with the compromise that they’d been forced to make.  
D’Avin, whose emotional state was usually much more easier to read than his brother’s, well his face was a mask. Dutch was forced to wonder if she had made the right decision, and if so what the consequences were going to be. She was alone with her thoughts on the trek back; they did not make good company.

***  
Conclusion  
They were now back aboard the Lucy after bringing in and processing Big Joe at the RAC headquaters. For someone who had been sought after as a huge warrant the big man seemed remarkably resigned to being locked up. Considering what he’d been through, perhaps it was not that strange after all.

Johnny sat at the mess hall table,having polished off a plate of chilli liberally spiced and a tall glass of milk. His brother had just entered the room.

"So, we're reasonably certain that they are no such things as vampires?" John remarked.

"Are you still going on about that?" D’Avin complained. “Look, you can confirm it with me, with Dutch, with the on-board computer, with the effing Man in the Moon for all I care! ; there are no such things. Never were."

"Yes, and why are you avoiding the question?" Johnny exclaimed. 

"Because I don't want to discuss this anymore. Look our target is bagged and tagged and locked up and won't be causing anyone else any more problems," D'Avin replied. "So why don't you give it a rest?"

"I will, just humor me, Okay?"

"Boys, boys," Dutch began and then trailed off. She was trying for levity, and hope it came off as sincere, but in the time it had taken to lift off from the planet and log a flight path to the RAC’s HQ to deliver Big Joe into custody; so could sense that the tide of anger and frustration that all of them had been feeling had shifted. 

This was very good thing, a very good thing. 

"Look, lil bro, if it you makes you feel any better and we can put this whole incident behind us; there are no such things as vampires. What we were likely dealing with is a bunch of insane paranormal cultists with a really, really severe case of hemophilla."

"Do you think that's all it was?" John asked apprehensively. He had already more or less come to his own conclusion on the matter but it he wanted to hear it confirmed by his brother. 

"Yes, and that's the end of it, okay?" D’Avin gruffly replied.

A part of him wished that John would get off the subject because it was becoming irritating and another part wished to go to bed. He was more exhausted than he had thought he would be and he was torn between wanting to engage in a bender so he wouldn’t have to think about what they’d all been through. And the other part felt as if he could sleep for a week.

John nodded. "Okay, okay, but I'm still going to classify this under 'weird'.”

“Define ‘weird’ because in our line of work that could fall into several broad categories,’ D’Avin remarked.

“Weird, as in the entire cult was totally wacked and made the hair on the back of neck stand straight up, and well, just plain weird,” replied John shaking his head, unable to completely sum up the totality of the experience.

“Well, that certainly clears things up. "Do whatever you want, guys, I'm going to bed," Dutch said. Adding over her shoulder, “Johnny, you could have Lucy make an appointment with a shrink, clear your head. It was, at best, a traumatic experience. It might help."

"Okay, top of the evening, Dutch, but it'll be tomorrow sooner than you might think."

"You gonna be okay, bro?" D’Avin asked gruffly, unaccustomed as he was to being; no sensitive was not the correct word, given that they’d be estranged for so many years and had only recently been reunited. It was so much easier and to fall back into the mocking, rough and tumble joking, push and shove type of relationship that they had once shared as boys instead of the heavy emotional stuff. 

That kind of stuff was simply too heavy, and in some ways, harder to reach than his own rather fumbling manner D’Avin could sense that that was exactly was his little brother needed just thought; so he would try his hardest to give it to him.

"Sure, sure," John waved nonchantly and absently rubbed at his flank we're RAC medical experts had given titanium stitches, as if they still itched. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Okay, then. But if those wounds are still bothering you, try not to be a stubborn fool hero and let me or Dutch know about it. Promise?"

"Sure, and hey, bro, two things, one thanks for hearing me out."

"By my reckoning that's only one."

John grinned and then added, "The other thing is; well, I had no idea that you were such a mother-hen."

D'Avin stepped over and aimed a mock-severe swing at his little brother's head. "You repeat that to anyone else, Johnny-boy, and I'll pin you to the bulkhead and beat the living daylights out of you. Just see if I won’t"

"Not if I get to you first," Johnny fired back.

“Hmm,” D’avin snorted. “You wish."

"Good night, bro,” John mumbled and then stumbled off to bed. 

_Get out, get up there instead_  
You saw the stars out in front of you  
Too tempting not to touch  
But even though it shocked you  
Something's electric in your blood  
But still you stumble, feet give way  
Outside the world seems a violent place  
You'll find a rooftop to sing from  
Or find a hallway to dance  
You don't need no edge to cling from  
Your heart is there, it's in your hands __

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for Karrenia's For the Devil to Dance Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476575) by [taibhrigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taibhrigh/pseuds/taibhrigh)




End file.
